The Proposition
by bundles-'o-joy
Summary: COMPLETE!
1. Default Chapter

_Hi everyone! Ah, at LAST I have the patience to write a phic comprising of chapters...woo hoo. This is a Christmas phic (months too early, I know...sorry!) and the story isn't much, please forgive me, my muses have been quite busy lately doing things other than giving me inspiration. Nevertheless, I have decided to write this...once again, thank you for the incredibly sweet reviews for my other stories! I LOVE you guys!! _

_Note: i realize that this first chapter is a cliffhanger; that was my intention. I really hope you like it! Enjoy!_

**Story: The Proposition**

**Chapter 1: The Proposition **(yeah, I know, same name as the title...ah well...we have to work with this...)

Erik was having a dreadful day. Dreadful, even by Opera Ghost standards. He'd personally answered about fifty billion (or some number to that effect) phan letters, which, judging by his volatile personality, was a rare and exceptional show of patience. As a result, he was extremely tetchy afterwards. He discovered that his Legendary Lair was gathering too much dust, and in an attempt to sweep it all away (which by itself was exhausting; the lair is rather enormous), but discovered that the mat beneath which he was trying to sweep it turned out to be Ayesha. He tried to operate his stove (which was emitting strange, shrill squeaky noises for no apparent reason) and did not succeed. He ended up eating one of the musical compositions he did not care for as lunch instead of food since the stove refused to cooperate, and came to the incredible realization that pulp does not go down well at all.

To cap it all, it was nearing Christmas (Erik recalled this as he was retching his lunch). If there was anything that annoyed gothic anti-heroes, it was the frisky warmth of Christmas. Many people (namely Raoul who seemed to think that sending Erik large boughs of mistletoe could compensate for the damage of him claiming Christine; Erik felt rather alarmed instead, and thought against hanging these up for fear of having to kiss Nadir repeatedly, who was his only frequent caller. Erik also suspected Nadir would also be slightly alarmed at throes of extreme affection from a man who wasn't even kind to himself) enjoyed this holiday. Erik's one solace was the knowledge that few carolers knew his address. The ones that did come by though were some of the ballet rats who enjoyed pushing Erik over the edge by attempting to sing (nothing was more horrifying to a musical genius than people who insisted on singing but couldn't), and ran away shrieking with laughter whenever he came out brandishing his Punjab Lasso.

And there was the celebrity. And unfortunately for Erik, the Cardinal Sin of celebrity in his case was Punjabing a particularly rabid phan (though he wished on several occasions he could commit a minor infraction and put himself, and the subject of annoyance out of misery). But then with celebrity there came something even he could not fathom...

Erik was seriously contemplating hurling himself into a drunken stupor (he'd done this only once before when his good mate Sauron of Middle-Earth was over; they'd had a lovely time drinking Tequila and trying to get lucky. What they did get however, were a pair of fantastic hangovers. He never admitted this to anyone). When the doorbell rang he reluctantly abandoned his wineglass and opened the door.

"Hullo, Nadir," he said automatically.

"I've got something for you," said the Persian, holding two envelopes.

"Oh, dear God, no more phan mail, please," murmured the harassed Opera Ghost, rubbing his aching forehead.

"It isn't phan mail," said Nadir, "Can I come in?"

"Oh—yes—of course—"  
They sat down in the living room, where Nadir pushed the envelopes towards him. Erik opened the first.

"An invitation to the Opera House Christmas Party," he said with a snort, "I have no idea why I've got one."  
"The managers feel that they owe you," said Nadir.

"What?" Erik looked up. "They owe me?"  
"You're bringing in unprecedented amounts of money for this Opera House, Erik," explained Nadir.

"So they invite me to this Christmas party?"

"Just bring a nice fruitcake. It'll be fun," said Nadir enthusiastically, "We'll have lovely games like pin the feather on the Fat Diva, and we'll go bobbing for apples..."

"And we'll go about demanding candy from complete strangers," supplied Erik dully.

Nadir raised an eyebrow.

"Erik, that would be Halloween."  
"What? Oh. They're all the same to me. I never collected candy or bobbed for apples."

Nadir's cough sounded suspiciously like _"loser". _

Erik wore a very pained expression. For the first time, Nadir noticed.

"I'm sorry, Erik," he said kindly, "I didn't even notice how tired you look. What's wrong?"  
"Oh Nadir," said Erik very emotionally, "This celebrity business is wearing me out, old boy."

Nadir looked at him oddly.

"Erik, I know just what you need!"  
"You do?"  
"Absolutely."  
"What do I need, Nadir?" Erik propped himself on his elbows and stared at the Persian imploringly.

"A vacation."  
A new light came into Erik's waxy face.

"Of course!" he cried. "That's _just_ what I need!"  
"A vacation, away, someplace nice."  
"Where would I go, Nadir?" energy gushed back into the wilted Erik, who now sat up, erect, filled with new meaning.

"How about Greece?"  
Erik nodded fiercely with approval.

"Ah, Greece! Or perhaps the south of France? That'll be lovely!"  
"Absolutely! We could sail on the Mediterranean..."

Erik sighed audibly, thinking of all these heavenly apparitions.

"But how on earth could I do that? I haven't time...or tickets!"

"Well," said Nadir with a bit of a grin on his face, "I was waiting for you to ask me that."

Erik stopped in his exulting.

"What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously.

"That brings me to this next envelope." Nadir offered it to Erik who seized it and ripped it open.

"You'll have to do something," said Nadir.

Erik didn't like this. Erik didn't like this at all.

He looked down at the letter. He looked at Nadir, who was grinning openly now.

He scanned the lines quickly.

"You've got to be _joking_" he said quietly, as he re-read it. "I can't believe you'd do this to me, Nadir."

Nadir smiled.

"Celebrity comes with pains, Erik," he said winking. "You've got to grin and bear it. But think about what you _will_ get if you comply!"

Erik said nothing.

"At least _think_ about it," urged Nadir. "Imagine, the crystal-blue waters...the beautiful local girls..."

Andre and Firmin were playing poker when they were supposed to be sorting out Opera House revenue. They heard what sounded distinctly like a shrill scream from...were they imagining it, five cellars down?

"What was that?" wondered Andre, frowning.

"Andre, did you lock Carlotta in that closet again?" Firmin gave him a stern look, although his eyes twinkled.

"Only for a bit," said Andre evenly. "Besides, it's hell if she's on the loose. And I don't think that it came from her. It sounded like it came from far lower."

Firmin shrugged.

"Ah well. Let's pretend we didn't hear it."

"Good plan."  
Andre started shuffling the cards.

_A/N: I KNOW!! CLIFFHANGER!! Sorry! Well, anyhow, like it? Hate it? Shall I continue? You decide! If you've read this, thank you sooo much! ::hugs:: Pretty please review! (I do so love them!)_


	2. You're a Sick Man, Nadir Khan

_I think phanphic authors exist for the sole purpose to torture Erik...hehe, here's my stab at it! Anyway, please forgive the lack of "funny" in this chappie...my brain is sort of dead. Gah. But i would appreciate it very much if you read this! I hope I don't disappoint anyone, and yes, if you ask, it was inspired from "Win a Date With Tad Hamillton" but on this matter I will say two things: first, this story does NOT contain any romance, and secondly, that movie was the very worst movie EVER made in the history of bad movies!!_

_okay, i'm done ranting. now then, on with the exceptionally bad phic!!_

Chapter 2: You're A Sick Man, Nadir Khan

Dear Mr. Erik, i.e. Mr. Phantom,

Please allow me to introduce myself: My name is Johannes Schneider, President of the Committee For The Involvement of Celebrities In Their Communities. I would like to thank you so much for signing up as our Celebrity Bachelor of the Month (paperwork submitted by a Mr. Khan—please give him our deepest gratitude as well). As Celebrity Bachelor of the month (since it is also the Christmas season) I would like to remind you that you agreed to participate in the "Win A Date With Monsieur Phantom" contest, where one lucky fan will be able to share a date with you on Christmas eve.

We would like to add that you shall not go empty handed for your sacrifice; you shall be sent two round trip all-expenses cruise tickets for you and a friend to the gorgeous Caribbean Islands, complete with all-you-can-eat buffets, wonderful excursions to picturesque locations, as well as a two V.I.P. passes to a Yanni concert. Also, we would like to inform you that your date is being meticulously screened; you need not worry. Luckily, this time we may not have quite an unfortunate incident as the one with Monsieur Frankenstein.

Once again, thank you for your cooperation; after all, we live to serve the community!

Merry Christmas to you

Best Regards,

Johannes.

Erik read the note yet again. Then he looked up at Nadir who insisted on smiling annoyingly.

"Are—you—_mad_?" He whispered.

"Come on, Erik, I don't think you read the second paragraph..."  
"And I don't think _you_ read the first paragraph! Good God, Daroga! What the hell have you gotten me into?"

"Erik, Erik, Erik." Nadir put an arm around Erik's thin shoulders. "Don't you think it's time you found yourself another girl?"  
"NO!" Erik shrugged off his arm. "I can't! I'm supposed to be completely obsessed with Christine! If I don't love her desperately anymore, I'll lose half my sex appeal!"

"Hey, cheer up! The other half isn't bad...you know, with all the killing, and the music and the maniacal laughter..."

"Daroga, I can't! Plus...I just can't!"  
"Why not?"  
"You wouldn't know." Erik sat down heavily. "For reasons I can't say."  
"I know, Erik, I do." Nadir sat down beside him.

"No you don't!" Erik had the air of a very emotional toddler.

"You're afraid of your phans."

Erik went pink in the face.

"Of course not! Why would I—"  
"You're afraid of being completely smothered by affection," said Nadir patiently, "I know. Don't you worry about that, mate, I've gotten it taken care of."

"What?" Erik forgot to deny his fear of his phans.

"Easy," said Nadir. "All you need is a bodyguard."  
"A bodyguard?"  
"I've set up an ad in the newspaper," said Nadir, two steps ahead. "Tomorrow we interview them."  
Erik looked at his friend rather sniffily. "But Nadir! I can't date some random mystery woman!"

"Oh, Erik! It's only just one night! Besides, think of what you'll get...think of the buffet!"  
"I don't eat much, you know that..." Erik folded his long fingers together.

"Come on! How about Yanni?"

Erik brightened. He was passionately fond of Yanni.

"Yes, I suppose that is an incentive," he mumbled in spite of himself. Nadir clapped him hard on the back.

"There's the fearless phantom I know! So will you do it?"

"I...suppose...I'm not sure...."

"It will be fine," insisted Nadir. "Think of the glorious vacation that will follow! The hula skirts! The girls _wearing_ the hula skirts..."  
"You're a sick man, Nadir Khan." Erik couldn't help but grin slightly.

"I'm sure you'll do fine, Erik," said Nadir with a wink. "After all, you've certainly got a way with women."  
Erik was forcefully reminded of the time he had tied Christine to a chair to prevent her from killing herself. He winced.

"All right," he said finally as his companion whooped for joy, "I'll do it. But if it goes wrong at all, it'll be your head in the guillotine."

"Consider it being chopped off if the date isn't perfect," said Nadir gallantly. Erik smiled because his friend looked so pleased.

But secretly, he was dreading the prospect.


	3. Concerning Strawberries and Cream, and O...

_Hi! thanks to everyone who read this!! i must say that when i wrote this chapter, i was in a very STRANGE MOOD...::people shudder::...so it's really not that funny. ah well, i try. it involves Erik looking for a pair of bunny slippers...if that's reason to read it, please go ahead...hehe._

_anyway, please read and enjoy! i KNOW THIS IS OOC, but patooey. reviews are MOST appreciated!_

Chapter 3: Concerning Strawberries and Cream, and, oh yes, a Tall Dark Stranger

A loud _thunk_ from the entrance to his home made nearly made Erik fall out of his richly padded coffin. Yawning and rubbing his eyes, the Phantom put a delicate foot on the cold ground and winced; he needed to find his bunny slippers at once! He frowned and dug the heels of his palm into the hollows of his eyes; he was having a pounding migraine. He couldn't remember a thing about last night; but for some reason he was filled with a strange sense of foreboding. Then concentration turned to the matter at hand, and Erik fell, crawling on the ground searching for his bunny slippers beneath each and every chair and table...

These slippers were highly precious goods, a gift won from a day at the horse races with Phillipe de Chagny. They were simply the loveliest furry pink things in the world to snuggle corpse-like feet into, and Erik adored them with all his heart. But, with a reputation to uphold, it was his single most terrifying fear that someone might discover them; after all, bunny slippers are not things that a seasoned criminal is to be caught dead with. He stood, suddenly, with the feeling that is so common to people who know that they are being watched.

Nadir had walked in looking highly tousled, in (God forbid!) electric purple Elvis pajamas. He was yawning hugely, ruffling his close-cropped hair with a stretch. He looked faintly amused at the sight of Erik on all fours.

"Oh, Daroga," said Erik (standing up quickly), in a voice which he must have thought sounded gruff and indifferent, "you stayed the night?"  
"Yes, your armchair is rather cozy," said the Persian, stretching again. Suddenly Erik remembered everything: the Win-a-Date contest, Yanni...he suppressed a groan.  
"Well, then, I was just looking for—"  
"These?" Nadir held out twin pearly rose-colored slippers.

"Er—yes! Ah, you've found them! Writhing and Agony! My two most faithful servants," cried Erik seizing the shameful items (actually their names were Strawberries and Cream) and squishing them in his fists. "Once again, I shall be able to practice my most secret, ancient and evil Phantom voodoo on them to purge society of all that is evil!" Erik pantomimed stabbing Cream with a large, invisible needle.

Nadir sighed with a smirk.

"You've been reading _The Crucible_ again, haven't you?"

The two were mercifully interrupted by another loud thunk on the door. In the time that Nadir turned to answer it, Erik quickly slipped Strawberries and Cream onto their rightful owner. Quickly throwing a large, impressive-looking cape across his shoulders, Erik went to join Daroga.

Nadir was looking at (appropriately) some_thing_. Because whatever was in the door could not be properly described as some_one_.

Erik saw Daroga's face contort with naked horror...

The large, brutal looking beast was clad in all-leather with eyebrows...well, best described straight from a Frieda Kahlo painting. A pair of ice-gray chips peered down at the terrified pair, who had now unconsciously moved closer together in fright. Erik, a clever and brutal man in his own right, found himself quailing under this enormous man's wake. It unzipped its leather jacket (from which rippling muscles could be seen, hidden within the depths of its dark shirt)...

Erik and Daroga held their breaths...

The creature suddenly lunged a hand the size of a ham hock into his chest and whipped out...

He whipped out a clipboard and a pen. He opened his great, rubbery lips and said, in a voice as deep and menacing as the thunder...

" 'Alo! Excuse me, po-lees, but zees ze 'ouse of Monsieur Ereek eez beeing?" he attempted a pleasant smile (which made his great face all the more terrifying).

Erik and Nadir screamed.

_A/N: Dorky, stupid? Short?? I KNOW!! But believe me, this will have a plot, soon!! this is sort of the intro...i'm kinda swamped w. schoolwork, we'll see. but thanks for reading this far!! ::showers free chocolate on the reader::_


	4. A Surprised Ghost, A Surprise Guest, and...

_Hello everyone! Ah, i LOVE THE WEEKEND!! ::hugs self:: i had so much sudden free time on my hands (bliss) i decided to crank out another neurotic chapter!! HOORAY!! _

_oh yes, props to **Madame Butterfly** for figuring out (well, sort of) what my intention was...::crazed cackle:: and thank you for the sweet comment, dear! and to all the rest of you who reviewed, i love you guys!_

_please, please, PLEASE keep reviewing, i really care what you think about this! Ah well, enough fluff, without further ado, more random Erik torturing! ::scattered applause::_

Chapter 4: A Surprise Guest, a Surprised Ghost, and Then Some

"Julio!" cried a shrill voice from the darkness, and Erik stopped screaming to listen. The massive figure turned confusedly away from the two skinny men on the doorstep and faced someone else in the shadows. Was he just imagining it be...?

La Carlotta stepped gracefully from the shadows adjusting a majestic golden scarf round her throat with a plump, dainty hand. She appraised Erik's home quickly, wrinkling her tiny nose.

" 'oo 'as done zis—"(apparently there was no word nearly bad enough)—"_decorating_?" she demanded with supreme disdain, fingering the rather drab wallpaper. "and _zis_!" (her massive paw clawed at a slim, elegant candle holder) "zis _seemply_ 'as to go!"

Erik and Nadir, who for several moments had been rendered speechless, turned to face the regal diva, Erik's arch nemesis. Never in his life had Erik imagined having to face her person to person, let alone watch her stride into his home with Monsieur Wolf-Man at her heels. And not only that, threatening her from a hidden column in Box Five via clever ventriloquism was all fine and dandy, but somehow seeing the massive woman looming before him now was somewhat disconcerting.

"What the—"for the first time in his life, Erik was at a loss for precisely what to say.

" 'aah," said La Carlotta turning suddenly, making them all jump. " so _zis_ is ze leetle Opera Ghost! 'oo 'ave tried to scare La Carlotta, but 'oo see, now we are—how does one say eet in Eenglish—_ear_ to _ear_?"  
"Face to face," corrected Nadir, who had gone from a rich toffee to a parchment white in a matter of seconds.

"Aah," said La Carlotta again, whirling her magnificent hands about, "I see zat 'oo 'ave a leetle _friend_ with you, too?"

She gave Nadir a very severe look. It was the most terrifying scrutiny the Persian had ever undergone.

"Madame," said Erik finally, feeling as though he'd swallowed a cupful of hot Arabian sand, "Might I ask what you're doing in my home?"  
"Yes, and who is _that_?" demanded Nadir warily from behind Erik's shoulder, gesturing to the hulking silhouette behind her.

"My bruzzer, Julio," said La Carlotta carelessly. From the doorway, Julio bowed apologetically.

For a moment they stood there. Then Carlotta readjusted several shimmering bangles and stood, before giving a rich laugh (quaking the foundations of the Dining Room by the Lake) and striding in.

"Well, Monseiur Ereek, 'oo are being most unkind!"  
"What's your point?" Erik was surprised at his own daring.

"AAH!" wailed La Carlotta, making them all jump again. ""Oo must eenvite 'our most _deesteengueeshed_ guests into your leetle home. Truly, 'oo French are most impolite."

"I object to your calling it 'leetle'" began Erik, although Nadir wisely clamped a hand around his friend's thin lips. "Come inside, Madame and Monsieur," he said as graciously as one could in a voice trembling with fear.

"Oh all right," muttered Erik, seeing no way out of this one, cursing Nadir mentally as he led the motley crew inside his legendary home. Nadir passed him, with a deeply disturbed look on his face.

"Daroga, your head in the chopper, the executioner releases the guillotine string upon my command," hissed Erik at the Persian.

But Nadir could only grin guiltily. Erik glanced back at La Carlotta and Le Hideous tromping behind him.

"_Whatever could they want?"_ He wondered to himself. _"Nadir probably knows, the fiend!"_

But he was too terrified to find out.

__

_A/N: Like i said, much closer to a plot than the last chapter! RIGHT??_

_Erik: ::coughs::_

_Me: shut up_

_Erik: ::manages to look surly as well as sexy::_

_Me: ::swoon::_

_Erik: ::rolls his eyes:: oh, for godsake, review people so that she can get this torture over with!  
__Me: ::giggle:: well, Erik, you don't even know yet what i have planned for you, love!_

_Erik: 0o do i WANT to know!  
Me: ::shows him the newest chapter:: _

_Erik: ::faints::_

_Me: Do you want him to live? ::looks threateningly:: hehe, just kiddin'! Please review, my good friends!_

_::runs off to revive Erik with cherry soda::_


	5. Erik has a Tantrum!

_Hi everyone! okay, i'm warning you, this following chapter was written when i was in a very STRANGE, PERKY mood. and therefore, i am not to be held responsible for anything that may seem...extremely...ODD...0o oh, did i mention that this chapter is loooooooooooooong??_

_but please,please, PLEASE R & R, i love reviews! i'm a review fiend! i MUST HAVE THEM!! MWAHAHAHAH!! screeches hehe..._

_anyway, like i said, if things don't make sense, please forgive me. extra-hard schoolwork has gotten to my head._

_oh yes...in this chapter, Erik throws an impressive tantrum...read on if you are interested (or brave) enough to find out!_

**Chapter 5: Intentions...and Erik has a Tantrum!**

Erik's hands were shaking so badly (a quarter out of fear, three quarters out of rage) he could barely pour a decent cup of boiling tea into his best china. He could hear Carlotta chatting away animatedly with Nadir in the next room (well, to him it seemed Carlotta was doing most of the chatting). Pouring a final cup, Erik bore the tray of Earl Grey into the room. "Tea, Signora?" he asked in a very clever imitation of courtesy.

"Ooh, I do not dreek tea," spat Carlotta, "eet is a nasty dreenk. In my countree, we dreenk fresh coffee, 'ot and black." She slapped her great stomach, a sound which reverberated through the room.

"How about you, Signore?" asked Erik Julio.

"Yes, thank 'oo," said Julio quietly accepting a steaming cup.

"Zis Julio," said Carlotta giving her brother a ripe smack on the shoulder, "'ee is becoming a _a forry-ner._ 'Ee used to dreenk much coffee but now 'ee 'ees becoming Frrrrench, "she rolled her 'r's with vigor. "Look at 'im! Once such a plump cheekon, now 'e is nussing but skeen and bone." She poked his meaty arm with a finger. "Show zem, Julio! Show zem 'ow theen 'oo 'ave become!"

Julio modestly showed them the watch he was wearing. Then he said in a very quiet rumble,

"Before, my wreest would not feet," he explained, looking thoroughly ashamed. For reasons he could not explain, Erik felt a rush of sympathy towards Julio. He looked monstrous, but he seemed a decent fellow behind the horrific visage. Much like himself, Erik considered. (Only he himself wasn't such a decent fellow.)

"So what brings you here, Signora?" asked Erik finally, sitting down and taking a swill from his own cup.

Carlotta eyed him beadily.

"'oo arrre being _most_—"  
"Yes, yes I know, _unkind_," said Erik very impatiently. "What have I done wrong _this_ time?"  
""I tell 'oo zat I do not dreenk tea, and 'oo arrr seeting there vith 'oor leetle cheekon-legs all crossed and 'appy,"—Erik quickly uncrossed his legs—"'oo shood be een 'our keetchon making ze madame"—she indicated herself—" 'ot coffee."

Eager to leave the scene, Erik leapt to his feet (cursing profusely) and made a fresh pot of coffee. When he returned, he found Nadir not in the trembling state of horror he'd left him in, but rather the very paragon of relief and confidence.

"Did I miss something?" asked Erik, setting down the new tray in front of Carlotta.

"Yes, 'oo most cer-tain-lee _deed_," said Carlotta loftily as though it had been his fault to begin with. "I vas just deescussing ze seetooation weeth Monsieur—"she paused, thinking hard.

"Khan, madame," said Nadir.

"Ka-han?"  
"Khan."

"Kha-han?"  
"Khan."

"Ah! I 'ave you zees time! _Kheen_!"

"Er—"

"Yes, that's right," said Erik quickly and Carlotta beamed with pride.

"Yes, as I wos saying, I deescussed ze seetooation weeth Monsieur _Kheen_—" Nadir gave a pained smile as Carlotta winked cheekily at him "—zees Ween a Date theeng—"  
"Hang on!" Erik sat down to prevent (if necessary) shock from making him keel over. "How do you know about this?" He quickly cast a horrified look at Nadir. "You're not my _date_ are you!?"

To his relief, Carlotta laughed richly.

"No, seely boy, I doo not go weeth leetle Opera Ghosts." She patted his arm reassuringly. "but I doo know zat zees "Win a Date" iz often more seerioos zan anteeceepated."  
"How do you know?" Erik leaned forward, somewhat intrigued. Carlotta grinned fiendishly. She simply said,

"Ubaldo."

Erik and Nadir stared.

"Aah, I steel remember," said Carlotta with a giggle, "wen I got 'is form, eet was exciting! Eet said, height, five feet, weight, five somesing but I do not remember zat...but I do remember 'underwear size'—"

"Who wants more coffee?" asked Erik quickly, narrowly avoiding learning some of Ubaldo Piangi's warm, unspoken secrets.

"Anyweey," continued Carlotta, "eet iz most eemportant zat 'oo 'ave a...vat doo zey say? 'Chaperone?' on zees date. I don't vant aany monkey business," she shook her finger fiercely at them.

Erik and Nadir looked at each other.

Monkey business? They both started laughing maniacally (Even Nadir, who had acquired quite a good laugh from being around Erik so much).

"Monkey business?" spluttered Erik with a snort, slipping a hand behind his mask to catch the tears. "Signora, I can assure you—"  
"Ah, no!" cried the great woman, "I doo not trust ze young blood..."

Erik grinned.

"Have you any idea how old I am?"  
"Does not matter," she said dismissively, "'oo 'ave acted like my leetle nephew eef not worse...and 'e eez only five years old. Except my leetle nephew would not Punjab anyone because 'e could not reach." She smiled fondly at the thought of the little boy. "and eet eez not about 'oo. I am not concerned with 'oo doing monkey business, I am concerned with ze _phan_."

That certainly got their attention.

"The phan?" asked Erik looking considerably less jovial.

"Si," Carlotta took a sip of her coffee. "Eef ze phan eez being...oh, 'oo know..." she blushed "too _affectionate_, zen we 'ave a problem."

"Why?"

"Well, zen 'oo, out of self-defense, vill attack ze phan and den 'oo will loose your good public persona," said Carlotta expertly.

The two gaped at her. Not because of her idea, but because it made perfect sense. Then something came to Erik's mind.

"Signora, why are you so keen on saving my public persona?"  
Carlotta stared at him.

"If 'oo attack the phan and go to jail, 'oo weel scare away ze ozzer divas in training like zat leetle Chreestine?" she raised her eyebrows as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Eef 'oo go away, zen 'oo won't be 'ere to fall in love with anuzzer soprano, and scare 'er away, leaving La Carlotta in ze limelight," Carlotta paused and smirked.

Erik felt slightly nauseous.

"So," he sad quietly, "you want me around so that I can scare off anuzzer—I mean another soprano by _falling in love with her_, so that she'll go away making you famous?"

Carlotta gave a confoundedly cheerful smile.

"'oo see?" she asked Julio approvingly, "'e 'as brains, zees one!"

"NO!" Erik forgot his composure, leaping up (consequently knocking over his tea cup and slopping now frigid tea all down his good clothes). "How dare you? You evil woman, how _dare_ you?"

Nadir raised an eyebrow.

"Erik—"  
But Erik barreled on.

"This isn't my fault! I don't want any part in this plot—"  
"But Erik, surely—"  
Now Julio entered:

"But why not?"

Carlotta smiled as she appropriately screeched,

"Eez backing out!"  
Then they all suddenly stopped, confused. Erik gave a moan and sank into his chair.

"I cannot believe this," he muttered. "Look at me!" He whirled on Nadir appealingly. "Just _look_! I'm quoting Lloyd Webber!"

Before Nadir could do anything, Erik burst into tears.

"There, there," murmured Nadir patting his hideous friend on the shoulder whilst simultaneously throwing Carlotta a very filthy look.

"I theenk," shouted Carlotta (to get over the din of Erik's wailing) "zat 'oo should 'ear me out."

"How can I hear you out?" bawled Erik, whose golden eyes had become a strange orange shade from his crying. "You're out to destroy me! All of you! And you just want me here so that you can stay in the light!" He pointed at Carlotta briefly before dissolving into a fresh round of hysterics.

"Erik—" Nadir shook his friend slightly.

"Oh, oh, oh!" cried Erik loudly, sniffing and reaching into his breast pocket for a black silken hanky.

"Now Erik, be reasonable—"  
"I can't—oh, Christine I'm sorry I made you go away! I'm sorry! And I'm sorry, Strawberries and Cream, for calling you something else...I'm sorry Joseph Buquet, although you were an idiot to come gallivanting through my compositions, I'm sorry—"

Nadir sighed.

"For some reason he's chosen to go through his yearly repentance of being the Opera Ghost at this precise moment," he explained to Carlotta and Julio. "It'll be over in a few minutes."

And sure enough, when Erik was through belting out his sorrows (ending with a regretful incident at a bowling alley where he had had to maim one of the more obnoxious employees), he sat, wiping his thin face with the hanky, and staring at the three of them through wide, frightened eyes. He then said, in a very blubbery voice,

"I hate myself."

"There, now," Nadir gave him a smile. "Feeling like your old demonic self again?"  
Erik's lip trembled.

"Feeling—better," he muttered, blowing his nose forcefully.

"Good. Now, let's hear what else Carlotta has to say, all right?" Nadir used the tone of voice best employed in explaining a very abstract concept to a tree stump. Erik looked at the woman, made a face, and said,

"Oh, all right, then. I don't suppose I've much of a choice." A hint of his sinister, seductive self was detectable.  
"Good," said Carlotta briskly, "zen I tell 'oo. To not get 'oo in trouble, I geev 'oo a Chaperone—"  
"Not you," said Erik loudly before he could stop himself.

"Hah!" scoffed the great woman in contempt. "Moi? Chaperoning a seely ghost? No, no! I 'ave a deeferent sort of chaperone in mind..." she thumped Julio on the shoulder, "'im."

"_What_?" yelled Nadir and Erik within nanoseconds of each other.

"'im," said Carlotta again, unperturbed. "'e eez not a chaperone, e eez a bodyguard."

The pieces all fit.

"So he's going to be my bodyguard?" asked Erik, sizing up the massive Julio.

"Eezent eet a breeliant idea?" Carlotta looked very pleased with herself. "eef ze phan does anytheeng to 'urt 'oo, Julio weel _take care_ of them."

Erik looked at Nadir.

"Do you think it's wise?" asked the Opera Ghost.

Nadir shrugged.

"I don't see any problems at the moment. Actually, it's probably a pretty good idea. Have you any bodyguard experience?" he asked Julio, who nodded.

"Pope," grunted the large man.

"Well, that's quite impressive, isn't it?" asked Nadir cheerily to Erik.

"Er—"  
"Well there it is," said Nadir.

"But what about the ad in the paper?"  
"Well," said Nadir thoughtfully, "I told them to meet down here for the interview process around 10 'o' clock..." he consulted his watch "it's been _two hours_! No one showed up!"  
Julio gave a slightly embarrassed cough.

"What did you do to them?" asked Erik, horrified.

"Nothing," said Julio quite truthfully, "Zey all took van look at me and zey ran away."

Nadir gave Erik a thumbs-up.

"Well," said Erik, "That's a useful little talent, isn't it?"

"So, 'oo take 'im?" interjected Carlotta suddenly, for she had been sitting and watching the proceedings with growing interest.

Erik put on his best ominous face.

"I can assure you, Signora, this is not for your benefit. I am simply taking security measures."  
"Zat's vat they _all_ say," said Carlotta in a loud whisper to Julio. Erik scowled.

"Yes," he said finally, "we'll take him. And he damn well better do his job!"  
Julio stood up and bowed.

"I assure 'oo, Monsieur Ereek, I do ze best job ever."

They were all interrupted by a polite doorbell (which was incidentally programmed to sound like the overture of Erik's Broadway musical). Erik himself opened it, finding himself faced with an enormously beefy man.

"Hi, is this the residence of Mr. Erik—"  
Carlotta quickly strode up to join them.

"Ze position 'as been filled," she snapped, and shut the door on the bewildered blackbelt's face.

_A/N: Forgive me, like i said, too long, too weird, too pointless...all is understood...but please i don't like flames....they make me sad... : ( but constructive criticism is WELCOME! whatever you do, please review! (hey, that rhymed!)_

_Erik: ::cough you're an idiot cough::_

_bundles: tee hee...the torture has only just begun, dear friend...slaps him so hard on the back that he chokes::_

_ERik: ::hack::_

_bundles: _

_erik: people! ::waves frantically:: you MUST REVIEW IF YOU VALUE MY LIFE!! _


	6. Guess Who Gets to be the Phan

_another weird chapter from the likes of me! ::giggles madly::_

_yes, now you get to discover who the phan is. don't shoot me. please. this was a very wild idea. _

_and oh yes, something HIGHLY suggestive in this chapter, goes beyond PG rating...hehe, just ignore it if you're young, K? _

_anyway, please continue reading! it's a pretty bad chappie, but i hope the end will make you want to hit something! ;) keep going, i love all of you guys to death!_

Chapter 6: Guess Who Turns Out to Be the Phan??

In the week that followed, Erik's activities could be only described as varied. And not only that, there was a slightly irritating detail; Julio was now somehow fixed permanently to his side. The enormous man had (without a word of consent from Erik himself) cheerfully moved into Erik's lair carrying a large suitcase the day after the fateful conversation with Carlotta. Erik, who did not realize this fact, awoke the next morning carrying his breakfast tray (with a splitting headache; he and Nadir had drunk themselves into a stupor, as promised), finding Julio unpacking a pair of large scarlet pajamas.

"Hello?" yawned Erik blinking away the hangover. For a moment, the image did not register.

"Oh! Good morning, Monsieur Ereek!" the great ape scuttled over to Erik and shook his hand vigorously. "I begin my serveeces today!"

Erik blinked again.

Then, of course, it all came back to him.

"NO!" he cried, wrenching his hand away from Julio's massive paw. "What the bloody hell d'you think you're doing here?"  
"Protecting 'oo," said Julio, bewildered, as he quickly scanned the lair for possible lurking assassins.

Erik groaned.

"But I don't need protection _now_," he moaned, "Only when the phan shows up! You can go home now, wouldn't you like that?"

To his dismay, Julio shook his head slowly. Instead of responding, the man sat himself down.

"May I 'ave some tea?" he wondered and helping himself to a biscuit from Erik's breakfast tray.

Not wanting to argue with someone quite capable of snapping his spine, Erik bustled off to make tea although questions still bubbled in his mind. When he returned, he saw that Julio had eaten most of his biscuits.

"These arre good," commented the large Spaniard, holding up the plate of chocolate sandwich cookies.

"They are called Oreos," said Erik stiffly, helping himself to one. "I happen to be rather fond of them. Nadir brings them all the time."

Julio said nothing, but proceeded to put the confection in his mouth, and swallowed it in a gulp.

"Wos zat ze uzzer man?"

"Yes." Erik sat down beside Julio, and poured his guest a cup of tea. "He is my very good friend."

Julio said nothing, munching methodically, although something like a twinge of sadness seemed to come over his broad features.

"I 'ave no friends," he said.

There was a very pregnant pause.

"Er," said Erik finally, "What about your sister? Carlotta?" He suddenly realized the ridiculous nature of this very question.

Julio sighed heavily and took a prolonged sip of tea, swilling it about in his cavernous mouth as though he was testing wine. At last he swallowed, and sighed again. Then he looked Erik very seriously a moment before staring into the dregs of his cup.

"Can I tell 'oo something?" he asked Erik hesitantly.

"Of course," said Erik, feeling this was the best thing to say. Julio looked about quickly again, although this time he looked heartily embarrassed.

"Cara? My seester? I am afraid of 'er."

Erik stared as Julio grinned sheepishly.

"Eez eet 'orrible of me?" he asked.

"No! Of course not," said Erik, pushing the plate towards him. Julio sighed and took another cookie. It was quite logical, actually. "You are not the only one who is, er, _intimidated_ by Carlotta."

"Reeoleey?"  
Erik smiled. "Really."

"Aah, zis eez wonderful, Monsieur Ereek," cried Julio, throwing his arms up dramatically (nearly causing Erik a concussion), "can I stay 'ere weeth 'oo?"

Erik thought it over. It wasn't as though he would be alone all the time with Julio; he'd ask Nadir to call more frequently. Besides, it might be nice to not worry about taking bullets from lurking rivals, such as members of the original cast of "Wicked" and such.

"Yes," said Erik finally, "of course you may stay."  
He would live to regret those words. Deeply.

_A few hours later..._

Erik sighed with pleasure as he sank into a thick, foamy hot bubble bath beautifully prepared with scented oils (a birthday gift last year, from Christine). Not bothering to rush anything, the delighted Phantom put a thin arm onto a particularly fluffy cloud and stretched his aches away. The slick soap suds fell in creamy rivulets down his torso, and Erik took a moment out of his highly intellectual pursuit of knowledge to count the number of bubbles that had formed on his toe. He then grasped his companion in the baths always, a small yellow rubbery creature by the name of Herman.

"Rubber duckie, you're so fine," sang Erik in his angelic tenor. He pressed Herman who responded by squeaking excitedly.

"Yeez," said a disembodied voice, "I 'ave one of those, too."

Erik jumped about a foot into the air. He wondered if this was how it might have been for Christine, hearing odd voices. He certainly hoped that he hadn't caught her in an equally inopportune moment such as the voice had him in now (it wasn't as though he could actually _watch_ her if she was...).

Then another thought occurred to him.

Was God punishing him for preying on the emotions of a naive girl? Was this a holy sign from above? Was he now to be tormented with a stealthy stalker from the heavens?

"_At any rate it should have been an attractive female angel," _thought Erik grumpily before responding to the voice.

"Yes, O creature of the light, forgive me for my sins," he sang, covering his incredibly expansive range with the sentence and holding the word "sins" long, sweet and pure, so beautiful that even the angel from heaven wouldn't have noticed the Phantom creeping out of the tub to wrap a towel about his waist because they would have been too busy heartily sniffing.

And it was true, whatever it was started heartily sniffing.

"Oh," it bawled, "'oo 'ave such a boo-ti-ful voice, Master Ereek!"

But of course.

Behind his mask, Erik's eyes turned to angry slits. He clenched his powerful fingers together, balling them into fists.

"JULIO!" he bellowed.

Sheepishly, the enormous bodyguard crept out from beneath the bathtub. Erik took a moment out of his rage to be amazed.

"How on _earth_ did you fit beneath my bathtub?" he marveled, squinting at the narrow space between the elegant silver claws that propped the belly of the bowl above the ground.

"Ancient Japanese rib-flattening technique," rumbled Julio, looking pleased.

"Really?" asked Erik curiously, "I thought it was Mongolian. Impressive. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. In the process of exhibiting my wrath."

Julio looked highly uncomfortable; Erik's eyes became venomous daggers.

"Sorry, Master Ereek," said Julio, "But eef 'oo would care to 'ear about ze Duchess Dupont, zere vas an assassin een 'er bathroom, 'oo should 'ave seen it, she climbed eento ze bath and zen, out of ze shadows—"

Erik would not have liked to see it. Duchess Dupont was famed through the land for her exceptional girth.

"—Anyway, I don theenk zat I deed anything too your bathtub," continued the massive fellow, bending down nimbly to examine the tub.

"The hell with my bathtub," said Erik (Herman squeaked indignantly), "the question is, _how—much—did—you—see?"_

"I turned around when 'oo were streeping," said Julio desperately, turning the color of a rutabaga.

Erik put on his best penetrating gaze (although this did not always work, it certainly did well in looking highly ominous).

"You're—certain?" he hissed, hoping very much that he remained the only person in the universe who had seen himself naked. _(A/N: Sorry, you rabid phangirls! It bothers me also!)_

"Vairy, vairy certain," promised Julio. "I don't vant to loook at a leetle naked Phantom."

"What's wrong with me being naked?" demanded Erik suddenly, completely missing the point. _(Up in her cloud, the authoress murmured in assent)._

"But I thought zat 'oo deedin't want—"

"Oh, er, yes, sorry," said Erik blushing, realizing the idiocy of his very question. "Right. I'm just a bit sensitive about my looks, you know."

"'oo aren't zat bad," said Julio encouragingly, "eet eez just ze face! Even zat is better zan—"he looked around darkly, "_Post surgery Michael Jackson_."

"Why thank you, I'm flattered," said Erik, shuddering at the memory of the one Michael Jackson concert he had ever attended, dressed as a member of the paparazzi. He had seen Michael up close. It wasn't a pretty sight.

"Plaas, 'oo 'ave a seex pack," observed Julio, pointing to the phantom's fit stomach.

"You noticed!" Erik proudly displayed his impressive abdomen. "I don't live next to a lake for nothing."

"'oo do laps?"

"Yes!"

The two lunged into conversation about athletics, and that carried them along for a while. Erik then offered to demonstrate his most excellent full nelson, which Julio agreed to be in, insisting that his full nelson was superior. Suddenly, a voice cried,

"Oh, _sick_!"

Nadir stood in the doorway, his fists clenched against his eyes at the sight of the bare-chested Erik bodily clasping Julio to him (who was gritting his teeth at that particular moment).

"NADIR!" bellowed Erik, quickly releasing Julio and masking his embarrassment with a brilliant temper. Nadir blushed.

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?"

"Oh, shut up, Daroga," snapped Erik viciously, clasping a hand to hide the blush on the exposed half of his face. "be quick in naming your business."  
"Well, after that display, I don't suppose you'll need female attention—"  
"DAROGA," shrieked Erik with a warning note in his voice.

"—er, the information about your Phan has arrived, along with something else."

Not bothering to put on a shirt (_I hope this satisfies the rabid phans!)_, Erik crossed the bathroom in a stride (followed closely by a curious Julio). Nadir offered him a sheet of paper, which he quickly scanned.

"Hmph!" he snapped, "This isn't much information at all!" The sheet said only the following things:

Name: C.P.

Vocal Range: Soprano

"What is this?" cried Erik, "what am I to make of this woman with her _voice range_? And 'C.P.? Who the _hell_ is she?"

"Well," said Nadir reasonably, "since you left so many notes and signed them with your initials, and since you're so impassioned with music, the directors of the contest thought that you might be able to associate with your phan better if you knew her musical abilities and referred to herself with her initials."

"Sopranos make me highly nervous," confessed Erik. "Besides, it's nice and all that that she's a soprano, but I want to know some real information! For instance, does she like sushi?"

"I like sushi," said Julio behind him, quite arbitrarily.

"I need to know more about this woman!" Erik pummeled his hand. Nadir gave him an odd look.

"That brings me to a second thing. You don't need to worry about learning more about this phan."

"I don't? I won't see her until Christmas! How will I find out more about her?"

"You can ask her."

"What? How? When will I see her?"

Nadir grinned nervously, the same grin that Erik received when the Persian had proposed the contest to him in the first place.

"How about right now?"

Erik's blood pressure barely had time to spiral up, when a slender form appeared in the doorway behind Nadir. Immaculately dressed in expensive clothing, she was indescribably beautiful, with dark curls and lovely blue eyes. She smiled broadly at the sight of Erik without a shirt (as any faithful phan would).

"Hello, monsieur," she said, holding a delicate hand for Erik to kiss. He took a moment to reflect on how uncanny it was that she a) resembled Christine to a great extent and b) was a soprano. He sensed trouble.

"Hello," he said. "What might your name be?"

She smiled harder, forcing a pair of very deep dimples to appear in her soft cheeks.

"Please forgive me. I decided to visit you earlier, before our date. Perhaps telling you who I am will clear things up."

"So tell me, please." Erik was beginning to long for a shirt.

"So rude of me," she said with a sigh. "My name is Cosette Pontmercy."


	7. List One and List Twoand Oh Yeah, the Ph...

_Note: this chapter may be confusing and strange, but i will CLEAR IT UP, i promise. and it's not that funny either. sorry...i tried... boo hoo. i feel the humor leaking out of me._

_this story has now become humor-turned-sinister plot..._

_All the people in the world possessing sainity: twitch_

_I've made it a point to try and personally respond to all of your current reviews...if I can! Well, here goes! If I missed you this time, I will definitely get you next time! )_

_**erikorlando'sgirl**: hehe! I'm glad you like it! ) Is Chibi-Erik pleased? o ('cause I know he hates me, just as the REAL Erik does...)_

_Erik: damn straight! gives authoress a filthy look_

_Authoress: gives him an even filthier look_

_Erik: OO whoa, mask or not, I don't think even I can match that ugliness!_

_Authoress: Erik, you're a bastard._

_Erik: bows_

_Authoress: but I love you ANYWAY! glomps him_

_Erik twitch I thought you thought I was a bastard!!_

_Authoress: I know! I do!! It's called unconditional insanity! eyelid twitches feverishly_

_Erik: ....AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!! runs_

_Authoress: follows him road-runner style off into the horizon_

_Erikorlando's girl: eh????_

_Hehe!! Forgive my random weirdness, friend!_

_**Tremulousandtender**: GOOD FOR YOU!! ALL MUST VALUE ERIK IN ALL HIS WONDERUFL-NESS!! I hope you liked the story!_

_**MetaChi**: Hehe, Cosette! Wait till you see! The thlot pickens! Bob the Chinchilla?? 0o whoa, I love you for being utterly nuts! ****gives you a mini Herman to take home_

_**InnoscenTorn**: Let me explain: Cosette is a character from Les Miserables, the famous Victor Hugo novel and musical. I recommend reading "The New Production" by LeMisLoony. It's terrific, and LeMisLoony uses the libretto from the musical and highlights it so you can follow along! I wish I could explain it to you, but believe me, it would take FOREVER!! (It's a waaay long book). If that is confusing as well (and if it is, I do not blame you) I can also recommend searching "Les Miserables" on google for a plot summary. Trust me, it's much easier that way than ME rambling on about it and giving you highly opinionated views of many of the characters. I hope that helps, and I sincerely hope that you like my story! ) I look forward to your reviews, and, oh yeah, UPDATE YOUR STORY!!!!_

_**Elyse3:** Oh, thanks sooo much! And about you not being as creative—I read one of your stories (and reviewed it too), and I do believe that you are VERY MUCH MISTAKEN!!! You are a wonderful author! All the same, I truly appreciate the compliment! And about your nit-pick...I blame you not for having it but...well, you'll see!!_

_**Lady Solei**: Oh! bows of that I am not worthy. Thank you!! And about me being thirteen? Yes. I am thirteen (quite unfortunately—I hate it! there's so much I CAN'T DO!!!!). In fact, you can get it confirmed (if you so desire) by "alucardshallbemysquishy", a fellow author on this site who goes to my school. We're both thirteen and completely rabid American teenagers. And you added me to the Recommended Reading thread? What can I say? I'm so flattered! ) Thanks again for the incredibly generous compliment! I hope I will ever be as good as you say I am!! : P Please keep reading!_

_**Madame Butterfly**: Now really. How DARE you tell me to update, when YOUR OWN REMARKABLY HILARIOUS TALE IS LEFT ABANDONED!?!?!?!??!?!?!? I shun you!! SHUN! SHUN! SHUN!! shuns you_

_Er, ok. With that outburst out of the way..._

_I really appreciate comments from you, dear! It's kind people like you that make straaange people like me feel worth it! And I return the 33333!!! XD. OH yeah, I also modified my plot summary (TO BETTER FIT YOUR POINT). Forgive me, I am struggling to get through my first year of high school, killing myself. So my updates are gonna be a bit shaky...but I still have a chappie brewing right this moment! pats head_

_Madame Butterfly: 0o_

_Hehe! Once again, thank you sooo much! Please keep reading, I really love and appreciate your comments! (I feel, by some weird cosmic force, we are both strongly akin!)_

_EVERYONE ELSE: a thousand and one expressions of my love to you, in virtual candy form._

_And now, let the idiocy commence!_

"Just three words," said Erik, drying himself with a towel that the lockjaw Nadir handed him, "aren't you _married_?"

"Well," said Cosette daintily, sitting upon the edge of Erik's bathtub and peering into the depths of it, "Technically. But not spiritually, emotionally, effectively, grammatically..." she checked each off with her fingers.

Erik shot Nadir a terrified look.

"I don't want to be committing incest," he whispered to Nadir, who shrugged.

"You won't be," said Cosette, trailing a delicate finger in the lukewarm water. "Please allow me to explain."  
"Just one thing though," said Erik in a deep voice, standing up to his full height (which was exactly six feet and four-point-five inches), towering over the girl.

"Yes?" she stared at him through glassy orbs, slightly afraid, fully seduced.

"Can I put on a shirt?" he sheepishly inched away.

"What? Oh, all _right_," said Cosette, sounding as though summer holidays were cancelled forevermore.

A few moments later, Erik appeared in a shirt perhaps better suited on Raoul. That is to say, made with dashing scarlet silk and edged with black lace. He felt highly uncomfortable: in an effort to quickly wear a shirt that wasn't wrinkled (he was a fussy Phantom, and at the risk of sounding unfeasible, possibly even fussier than _your_ mother), the only thing that the Phantom could find was this, clearly an emblem from the set of _Don Juan Triumphant. _He trudged into the seating room where Cosette was scribbling something furiously on a little notepad in the shape of a guillotine, and Nadir was watching her, apparently, with growing interest. When Erik stepped in, Cosette looked up in quiet confusion at his choice of dress. Nadir and Julio, however, made their horror a little more apparent.

"What the _blazes_ are you wearing, mate?" demanded the Persian after a bout of incoherent sputtering.

"Is it so bad?" asked Erik, wishing very much that the red was not quite so sensuous.

"Like my seester in ze morning," said Julio as a vein on his temple flickered briefly.

"You look charming," said Cosette in an attempt to be amiable.

"Charming in a clown convention," muttered Nadir.

"I _hate_ clowns," Erik whispered, highly offended, "But that's beside the point, isn't it?" Nadir gave him an anomalous look.

"Well," said Erik, sitting down on an austere, straight-backed chair (which could explain his excellent posture) and surveying the radiant Cosette through iridescent golden eyes, "What brings you here with your marital status, mademoiselle?"

Cosette watched him carefully.

"You know," she said, "There's a lot to explain."

"I understand," said Erik, nodding. "Please begin."

And she did.

Well, to say she _did_ begin straight away would be a blatant lie. Cosette Pontmercy insisted on a plate of fresh coconut macaroons that Nadir was forced to steal (as stealthily as he could) from Ubaldo Piangi's dressing-room. Then she topped it off with a bottle of fine brandy straight from Erik's cellar and private collection (the gunpowder, he eventually decided, was leaving behind an appalling stench). Finally, when all the men were fully convinced that she was _completely_ sloshed, Cosette began her explanation. She reached into her purse and pulled out a long piece of paper. She unrolled it on the lamp-table beside her, and Erik peered over her shoulder to have a look.

It was the strangest thing list he had ever seen in his life. In fancy, curly script on the top were the letters: "WWNMTBBSRPF".

"What on earth—"  
"Shh," said Cosette. "Have a look."

Erik looked. Listed, into what seemed like infinity, were names of famous literary and musical characters. He gave a slight start when he saw his own name in the first column, across from which, in a second column, his name was connected to Christine's by a spindly little bar (he saw this and was instantly intrigued).

"Please explain this," he said. "What do the letters stand for?"  
"WWNMTBBSRPF: What Was Never Meant To Be But Still Remains a Pleasant Fantasy," said Cosette.

"Ohhh..."

"This list," said the girl indicating List One with an elegant finger, "Shows the pairings that the insufferable composers and writers of great literary works have subject us, great literary characters, to."

Erik stared morosely at the blank space beside his own name in List One.

"But, cheer up," she said, "Do you really think fans would have it?"  
"No," agreed Erik, "you should see the amount of emails I get daily informing me that I should go out with women, ranging from Christine all the way to Liv Tyler."

"Precisely. That brings me to the second column. These are the pairs most popular according to most fans."

Erik beamed at Christine's conjoined name.

"So what does this all mean?" he asked.

Cosette made him a cantankerous face that didn't look right with her elegant features. She pointed to a name, her name, in List One. It was conjoined with "Marius Pontmercy"."

"The literary pairing," she said with a sigh. Erik watched her finger move to the complimentary space on the next column. It was Marius' name again, but this time, it was attached (via spindly little bar) to the name, "Eponine Thernadier". Cosette scowled and showed Erik the picture of a very attractive young lady with lovely dewy eyes and delicate tendrils of chocolate brown hair. Her arms were linked with a gorgeous young man who, despite looking very handsome, had a slightly vacant expression on his face. Erik was strongly reminded of someone, but he couldn't recall whom exactly. The lady in the picture was smirking widely.

"Pretty little thing, isn't she?" demanded Cosette spitefully.

"She's quite stunning, I'll admit," Erik observed the fine-looking specimen in awe. "I say, have you any _other_ girls in _Les Miserables_ that I should know about?"

"Eponine Thernadier," spat Cosette, ignoring Erik, "She didn't really die, of course (I often fantasize, you might imagine), she exists still just as you do. And, for some reason, most the Les Miz fans insist that she and Marius are the dream couple. But Marius was mine!" she slammed a fist down on the coffee table with a surprising surge of strength, rattling the teacups and macaroons.

"Wow, angst," remarked Erik, "Something I've always admired. Good for you!"

Cosette turned her enormous eyes to Erik, gave a dramatic sob, and collapsed onto the sofa in a heap.

"Why, _why_ God? What have I done wrong?" she wailed with in surprisingly good pitch.

Erik eyed his phan sympathetically. She was oddball in her story. Something he commonly associated with Raoul (although the latter did not earn his sympathy because he did not have a) a superb vocal range and b) an excellent body, like Cosette).

"Cherie, please go on," he said in his best nice-person voice (he was working on it). He sat down beside her and dared to pat her on a woebegone but manicured hand.

"And so," continued Cosette with a loud sniff (Erik motioned for Nadir to hand him a silken hanky) "Technically I'm married to Marius, but I think he prefers...you know..." she cast a dark look at the photograph "_her_..."

"Wait," said Erik, confused. "I do not usually doubt my reading comprehension, but in a situation where an actual character from a literary work comes and refutes my theory...well..."  
"What?"

"Aren't _you_ the one he's supposed to be madly in love with?"  
Cosette drew a shuddering breath.

"I _was_," she said, "And it was like that before. He was _all over_ me!" She winked knowingly at Erik, who blushed, "and of course, the perfect, pretty little happy ending. But then _she_ had to get herself all shot and banged up, and all of those fans jumped on the bandwagon. Oh, no more lovely soprano! Oho! Now they move down one step lower...to that...that..._alto_! You'd think they'd remember that it was _me_ who scrubbed all of those floors in _her_ house!"

"I understand the fan part," said Erik, "but I don't understand Marius."

"Marius simply _adored_ me for a while, little fool," said Cosette snippily, "and then she came waltzing along, ruining my perfect magical life—"  
"So she didn't die?"  
"Die? DIE? Heavens, of _course_ not! Things worked out for her. Some of her biggest fans were people who worked in the American Red Cross. Saved her life they did, didn't get a word of thanks out of her! And some of those idiots still drool all over her even though she's _alive_!"

"So eez ze Pope," remarked Julio quite randomly, "after I saved 'im from Dan Brown—"

Everyone paused from the proceedings to give Julio a highly strange look.

"Right," said Erik to Cosette, "So what's your point?"

"My point is" said Cosette in a businesslike manner, "I need you to do a favor for me."  
"What?" demanded Erik, slightly aghast, "A favor? I thought you wanted to _date_ me!"

"That too," said Cosette, "But it's more of a one-time thing."  
Erik didn't like the sound of that.

"What I mean is," she said "If you do something for me, I can help you find and win your lady-love."

"Christine?"  
"Yes."

"But...you're my phan—"  
"And me going out with you and forging a successful relationship with you would go against all the clairvoyant forces of Phandom."

It sounded logical to Erik.

"Right. But why did you enter the contest then?"

Cosette sighed. She put a hand on Erik's.

"I like you, Erik. But things would have never worked between us, darling." She sighed. "I'll go on a date with you, for good politics. It shows that we literary characters like a sense of adventure. Our phans would be pleased; we're creating new territory that even phanphics haven't ventured into. Now, do be honest. Do you plan to have a relationship with me?"

Women were so damned _confusing_.

"And what is the exact nature of this favor?" he wanted to know.

Cosette slipped an ivory hand into her purse and pulled out a small green bottle upon which the words "Green Elixir" were engraved.

"_This_ nature," she said, and put the bottle into his hands. "A certain someone's skin pigments are going on vacation for good."

Things were definitely getting shifty.

_AN: I WILL EXPLAIN EVERYTHING IN THE NEXT CHAPTER! I PROMISE!!! PLEASE KEEP READING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_


	8. The plot, um, sort of progressesand, OH ...

_this chapter introduces Marius...at LAAAST, but it does make things more confusing...hehe. sorry...) but i really appreciate all of the wonderfully kind reviews...you guys rock! _

_as a disclaimer, this chapter is...well, weird. and no, despite the title, it does not really progress at all...read, by all means, but you will be AFRAAIIID of me...MWAHAHA._

_ok. i dedicate this chapter to my whore-tastic friend Lauren. happy birthday, kiddo. the rest of you: i love ALL OF YOU. i'd get back to each individual reviewer but i'm too lazy...: ) but i promise i'll do it in the next chappie! so, as always, peace and love my friends...._

**The Plot, as it begins to Progress**

"There is something I must _doooo_," sang Cosette suddenly in a very Colm Wilkinson-ish voice as Erik was examining the bottle of Green Elixir, making them all turn around with surprise.

"What do you have to do?" asked Nadir.

"Oo are oo going to turn green?" asked Julio.

"Where did you learn to have such a whiny tenor?" asked Erik.

Cosette smiled at them all. "Well, boys," she said, "what I have for you is a proposition. And don't worry," she glanced at Erik, "there will be something in it for you. I'll help you win back your little Christine Daae."

Erik was more than a little hurt at her negligence; first she claimed to be his die-hard phan and now she was acting as though she couldn't be able to distinguish him from his pipe organ if given the opportunity. But the prospect of Christine was too tantalizing.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "explain yourself."

Cosette sat herself down.

"To be very frank," she said twisting a pale finger into her dark curls, "I want Marius back."  
"All right," said Erik cautiously, "That's very nice. But how does that involve us?"

Cosette smiled at him very prettily; Erik felt, despite his will, warm and fuzzy inside.

"You will weed out the competition for me."

Erik stared. _Ignore the gorgeous blue eyes, ignore the rosebud mouth, ignore the dimples, ignore the lustrous hair—she's taking bleedin' advantage of you, damn it! Pull yourself together, man!_

Musical genius or not, however, Erik _was_ a man. And of course, he couldn't ignore it. Especially not when there was a particularly fine specimen of the opposite sex smiling seductively, coyly before him. A damsel in distress. No, a very _attractive_ damsel in distress.

_And_ she was a soprano. Erik was utterly helpless. All of his Phantom of the Opera senses were tingling.

"All right," he said grudgingly, "I'll help you."

**The Life and Times of Marius Pontmercy**

There was a time when Marius Pontmercy could be considered a flaming revolutionary. He was a scruffy, devilishly attractive young lad with long hair and huge, ratty clothing that might, in later centuries, be considered punk. There was a time when he could, at the drop of a hat try to talk you into starting a revolution. Especially if you were (are) a girl, he would succeed. There was a time when the girls of the piers and students of the revolution would swoon in his wake: he was _the_ fabulous Marius, the sexy, tough young activist who didn't give a damn.

But that time had long past.

Now, although he hadn't physically aged (literary characters don't age—they remain frozen in time so as to recruit more fans), Monsieur Pontmercy had mentally aged. To put it politely, Marius was comparable to a bottle of fine wine. Like good wine, he was growing to perfection. But unlike good wine, he was not pursued by the very finest of connoisseurs, or, rather, beautiful women. Why was this? To put it simply, he was married.

Not that he minded it terribly; Cosette was a beautiful young lady, no doubts. But for some reason, he rather wished it were like the good old days when all he had to do was wink roguishly and he'd send a line of girls tumbling. Like dominoes. That never happened anymore. Also, while Cosette was very desirable, there was something about her that he couldn't quite put a finger on. But things had definitely changed since he married her. For one thing, Enjorlas and the boys certainly didn't come around for a beer anymore like they used to. Cosette insisted they move in with her father, Jean Valjean, who, despite being terribly heroic and intelligent, smelled an awful lot like cabbage soup. And absolutely _no_ interaction with the children of the barricade! Now he had to attend silly society parties with his charming wife, Cosette, the toast of the town, standing beside her as though the Anti-Incest Fairy taped him to her with great zeal, and sipping champagne and playing Bridge with her damned little lady friends. It was not the sort of life he preferred. And then there were the clothes.

"You can_not _wear these rags," Cosette said the night after they had exchanged their matrimonial vows (he started to regret it the minute she had thrown his Lucky Pants into the fireplace). She'd stripped him bare and he sat there foolishly, for about two hours, in her fluffy pink bathrobe while she ran off to convince some snooty tailor that it was an emergency. _Oh God_, thought Marius in his hugely unflattering garb. _I'm a fashion emergency. How embarrassing._

He certainly hoped that Cosette never got her hands on Enjorlas; he didn't think she could survive from the horror of it all.

She returned later with several crisp packages under her arm and a large smile on her face; "Monsieur DuLac was happy to fill me up on the latest fashions," she said happily, as he (she insisted) modeled each ridiculous starchy thing she'd bought. Lacy collars, little velvet jackets, decent shoes, frilly little ascots—no longer was it "Marius the Buff." It was now "Marius the Pansy." And how did a rough and tumble, brawny revolutionary boy get transformed into a chic gentleman within an afternoon? Marius watched Cosette, her arms flying about as she efficiently stretched out the clothing, making intelligent remarks all the while. Wow, he thought, truly impressed, she's _good_. She could certainly give the Extreme Makeover people (a show of which she very critical but he knew that she watched it when no one was looking) a run for their money. And he'd tolerated it all with the remarkable amount of patience that one might expect of a newly married man, so hopelessly infatuated that life itself seems brimming with newfound logic.

That is, until, well, _it_ happened.

"Look," said Cosette, holding something flat and fluttery under his nose one evening. He looked down; a sea of delicate lace trimmings greeted his eyes, folding elegantly beneath the edges of a carefully scalloped sheet of parchment paper. In carefully scripted writing that reminded the reader just how much the scribe was probably paid, there was the following:

_Are you a young, handsome, roguish literary character seeking fascinating, enlightening company besides your spouse?_

_Look no further! _

Marius was intrigued.

"_**F**ASHIONABLE **O**PERA **P**ATRONS" _screamed the large, curly sign. _"A club for those who love high-class art."_

President: Monsieur Legolas Greenleaf 

_Vice-President: Vicomte Raoul de Chagny _

_Secretary: Mademoiselle Eponine Thernadier _

_Treasurer: le Comte Philippe de Chagny_

_Join us for spirited excursions to the Opera House! _

"Well?" Cosette demanded. "Doesn't it sound pleasant?"

"Er—"

"You'll make such _nice_ friends," she said happily, "I hear Monsieur Greenleaf is _quite_ the authority on the latest fashions—"

"I—"

"Oh, Marius, I'm just so _thrilled_! I've let you become more independent by finding efficient recreational activities for you!" She was overjoyed.

Marius stared. _Ignore the gorgeous blue eyes, ignore the rosebud mouth, ignore the dimples, ignore the lustrous hair—she's taking bleedin' advantage of you, damn it! Pull yourself together, man!_

But Marius wasn't going to ignore it. He couldn't; Cosette looked positively radiant. Perhaps this would make her happier...it did sound a bit bourgeois to him but what the hell...one had to sacrifice in a stable marriage. Besides, Eponine Thernadier was in it...it had certainly been _years_. It would be interesting to see her again.

Cosette smiled at her husband, achieving subtly, effortlessly, what women have over their lovers: complete control. Now he'd be making some good friends! And opera; one hardly got classier than that. A little voice in her mind said: "Your husband—Fashionable Opera Patron!"

Cosette hugged herself silently in delight for a job well done.

Over a glass of brandy later in the evening, Marius felt a sense of unexpected anticipation. Perhaps this _would_ be worth his while. A little voice in his mind said: "Marius Pontmercy—Fashionable Opera Patron!"

Not bad. Not bad at _all_.

The words sounded nice together. This might be the beginning of a bright new future.

What new surprises lie in store? 

RANDOM DARK, SINISTER MAN: in a soft, spooky voice little did HE know....demented laughter

_A note to Raoul lovers: I will NOT BASH HIM...I swear! I think Raoul is cute...I am a fan of his )...and I certainly do not believe that he is unintelligent. You'll just have to wait and see..._

_less logical than before?? yes? IT WILL ALL MAKE SENSE!! mwahahahahah!! coughcough please review, folks!_


	9. Everything Explained Very Badly

_YES! I KNOW!! I know it's too late for Christmas and all that, but I don't care!! I really wanted to finish this phic, and I haven't quite done so…there's one more chappie left, but this one's nice and long. It's a really weird, jumbled description of everything that happened, and I should let you know that I was running very high on sugar when I wrote it. It's such a silly, toasty little ending that if you knew me, you'd probably want to smack me on the head. Oh well. and yes. It isn't that funny. But Christmas does funny things to us all. I'm sorry it's so late. I've been procrastinating… Enjoy!_

_Everything Explained...very weirdly. a lot doesn't make sense, but what the hey_

Erik stared at the modern-looking device in his hand. A black, lumpy thing, with all sorts of knobs and shiny buttons. And a small grid of holes at the bottom.

"Begging your pardon, Mademoiselle Cosette, but what the hell _is_ this?"

"It's called a walkie-talkie," said Cosette briskly. "You see, I've got one, Nadir has one, and Julio—JULIO! Stop playing with it!"

Julio looked up sheepishly; he had been methodically smacking the walkie-talkie onto the floor, to see if it would hold.

"Sorree," he said apologetically.

"Right," said Cosette, "now then. Erik, you must press this button:" She guided his skeletal finger to the large red button and pressed it down. The walkie-talkie emitted a shrill rush of static. Completely startled, Erik shrieked and dropped it.

"No fair," snapped Julio, "Monsieur Ereek can play, but Julio cannot."

"Erik's more sane than you'll ever be," muttered Cosette, eyeing the twitching masked man with a decided interest.

""oo know what I say too zat?" Julio, for the first time in his admission, looked annoyed.

"Something brutish?" said Cosette loftily.

""oo're a leetle beet RACIST!"

Cosette shrank back with rage. "WHAT? Well, you're a little bit, TOO!"

Julio shrugged.

"I guess wee're both a leetle beet racist…"

Cosette agreed: "Admitting it is not an easy thing to do,"

"But I guess eet's true, between me and oo…"

The two randomly burst into song and dance; Nadir and Erik watched, jaws roughly level with the floor.

Nadir snapped out of his trance and thrust an arm between the two furiously singing characters in the manner of Raoul's old football coach: "Okay, kids, break it up—"

At last, Cosette leaned back, and expertly tucked a tendril of golden hair behind a shapely ear. "I got distracted…back on track, gents?"

Erik sighed. There was no way out. Not only was he morally bound to Cosette, he actually had _no idea_ how to get out of this particular room in his house. "Damn, my architectural genius," he fumed as the others began searching for an exit.

"How do we get out of here?" demanded Cosette, whose patience was obviously beginning to fray.

"Er…see, the thing is," began Erik very meekly. Cosette ran her hands along the walls, slapping random stones in a Holmes-esque manner. At last, she reached a little niche with her long fingers.

"This is our way out," she said very scientifically, and before Erik could say another word, she took out a hairpin, wiggled it in, and in seconds the four of them were in the foyer.

"I must say, mademoiselle, I am very much impressed," mumbled Erik.

"You see what I am capable of?" she said with a charming smile.

Erik could. And it frightened him considerably.

CHRISTMAS EVE

Erik stood in his least ratty evening suit, and in a shirt that at least vaguely resembled the color white. He combed his dark locks in a fragmented wedge of mirror that he had salvaged from the bottom of his coffin (?). "I know I hate mirrors," he muttered to himself, "but this is _too much_." The mirror shard was precisely four inches both ways, more or less. And all Erik could see was that he had a rather shapely mouth.

"I can't SEE myself properly," he groaned, posing it at different angles in efforts to get his entire body in. It was in this state Nadir found him.

"Preening yourself?"  
Erik was busily attempting to tape the mirror on the wall and stepping far away from it, then realizing that although his entire body was now within the enclosure of the mirror, it was too far away for his eyes to properly register the image. "Curses!" he growled.

"You look tatty," commented Nadir, "And I suggest you do something about it. Cosette will be here any moment, and you know that you are going nowhere unless you pass her screening."

Erik looked at his friend appealingly.

"What on earth am I to do? I haven't anything better to wear! Most of these are Piangi's hand-me-downs, and he doesn't even know it!"

Nadir observed him thoughtfully for a moment, and then pulled something out of his pocket.

"Here," he suggested, brandishing a pink rose at Erik. "Pop this in your breast pocket, and you'll be charming."  
"I don't wear foliage," said Erik.

Nadir stuffed the rose into Erik's coat.

"I hate you."  
"It's mutual," said Nadir, patting down Erik's hair.

"This dress-up, it's silly, I'm so embarrassed—"  
"Are you ready at last?" Cosette entered the room suddenly, a vision in satin greens. She was clutching a clipboard and a pen in her white-gloved hands. Before Erik could say a word, the young woman began circling him, in the way a predator circles her prey after the hunt. She muttered to herself, and began checking things off on her clipboard. At last, she stopped, and Erik waited for the verdict:

"Passable," she said shrewdly. "but I am neither impressed nor pleased. At dinner you will behave with the strictest propriety, and respond only when spoken to." She swooped suddenly, so that Erik and she were nose-to-nose. "Is that clear?"  
"Yes ma'am," said Erik, and he saluted her zealously.

"All right then," she said abruptly, her voice spun sugar again. "Let us have a wonderful time, my darling," she slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow.

There was a small shaking sensation from the ground as Julio bounded into the room looking like a towering confection in a monstrous pink suit with little cherry buttons going down the vast expanse of his stomach. His hair had been slicked back with inordinate amounts of gel, and he had apparently attempted to shave (and this attempt did not yield the best of results).

"Forgeev mee," said the enormous man, "baat I vas tryeeng to loook naaice…"  
"You look lovely," said Nadir kindly, "like a…a…oh, help—" he waggled his arms around, groping for the best description.  
"Like an ice cream?" supplied Erik helpfully.

"Yes. Like an ice cream!" Nadir nodded. Julio looked glum. "But a very _nice_ ice cream!"

Cosette coughed very suggestively. "Let us carry on right here, shall we? No need to go to the restaurant!"

Erik, afraid to annoy Cosette, began walking out the door. "Come on, you lot," he yelled behind him.

Cosette was the last to leave. She clicked the door shut with a tiny hand, and smiled broadly. Tonight was going to be interesting.

Pity she didn't know exactly _how_ interesting.

Erik's heart did a summersault when he saw the restaurant; he took a moment to correspond the hollowness of his heart with the hollowness of his checkbook. It was highly elegant, with fairy lights strung up all over the place in an elegant manner. There were elegant creepers elegantly encircling the elegant front door, and an elegant valet holding an elegant clipboard filled with (undoubtedly) elegant restaurant patrons. It looked like just the sort of place Cosette might stop by to purchase an elegant salad with elegant, extra-virgin olive oil. And she looked extremely happy; what would she do when she found out he had no money?

"Come, Erik," she said joyously just as these very thoughts were occurring to him. She smiled beguilingly as they reached the valet, who volunteered to park the carriage for them. Cosette smiled delightfully, and gave Erik a look that completely reeked of the signal, "_tip him!!"_

Damn.

The valet was providentially too busy gawking down Cosette's dress to notice much else; Erik took this to his advantage and strutted into the restaurant authoritatively. He could practically _hear_ the sizzle of Cosette's Angry-Rays. Luckily, Nadir pressed a coin into the valet's hand to avoid temporary infringement of Cosette's Laws. Erik made a mental note to hug Nadir excessively the moment he stopped quaking with apprehension.

A pretty girl dressed finely came to guide them to their table; Erik felt her eyes raking his sides with appraisal. He held his head a bit higher. They were led to a side table which Erik immediately noticed was too large. "There are four extra spaces!" he said, counting the number of frilly placemats. Cosette leaned in seductively and was muttering something very sweetly to the waiter (who was turning progressive shades of darker purple). She selected a flute of champagne from the center of the table.

"Lovely," she said with a smile. Erik felt that he was the only one that was, if reduced to using the very modern terms that his conventional mind detested, "out of it." Nadir and Julio were shooting each other rather dubious looks, and this was occasionally punctured by Cosette, who shot dubious looks at both of them _at the same time,_ until they all nodded together, happily achieving a state of truly dubious dubiousness. Erik felt that he needed to sit down.

"If something's going on," he said wearily, "I would be rather pleased if you told me."

"Going on? What ever do you mean, my dear?" Cosette smiled at the bewildered Casanova.

At that precise moment, the restaurant door shot open, and Erik saw Julio mutter something into his walkie-talkie. Erik looked up and could scarcely believe his eyes. The doorway was suddenly crowded with four very attractive people, all of whom were chattering noisily and seemed very taken with each other. Unfortunately for him, Erik recognized two of the four: the a young lady with soft dark curls and delightful blue eyes, and a handsome, sunny-faced fellow with aristocratic clothing.

Raoul and Christine!

And the frightening part was that the couple that the Vicomte and Comtesse were with looked remarkably like the Vicomte and Comtesse. Which made it rather hard to register in Erik's brain, for a moment, that he was staring at Marius Pontmercy and Eponine Thernadier as well.

Erik turned his head slowly. It was a motion that brought to mind the infamous scene from "The Exorcist" (a film, by the way, that Erik enjoyed watching from time to time). Nadir smiled nervously. Erik felt a methodical drumming inside his pant pocket. It was the feeling of the Punjab Lasso, begging to be unleashed. But before he (or the Lasso) could do anything, Nadir made an abortive attempt to laugh loudly, and call out, in a voice trembling with very audible trepidation:

"Could it be? Dost mine eyes deceive me?"

Raoul de Chagny looked up, his jaw hanging loose in very comical (and highly counterfeit) surprise. "Why bless my toes!" he shouted. "Can it be you? _Nadir Khan_?" Nobody and yet everybody could hear Erik's incensed huff as Raoul, followed closely by Christine, followed closely by Marius, who was followed closely by Eponine, approached the solitary table. With a flamboyant gesture, Raoul snatched Nadir's arm and proceeded to pump it at an alarming rate.

"Jolly ho! Who would have thought, after all these years—"

"I can't believe it's you, old boy, so wonderful!"

"Raoul! Is that really you? You look _good_! Or should I call you, Monsieur Vicomte—"  
"Don't be silly, Naddy, you can call me what _ever_ you want—"  
The two pounded fists and carried out a strange ritual that comprised mainly of methodic clapping and war-cries. Raoul paused in the middle of it to consult a little slip of paper filled with, (Erik could read these with his eternal, peripheral Erik-vision) directions to a "secret" handshake. Clap, war-cry once, clap twice, etc. It was when Nadir and Raoul began slapping each other playfully that Erik finally snapped.

"Why am I the only one who feels like we're at a frat reunion?"

"Well, sort of," said Nadir with an abortive attempt to laugh casually, "Actually, Raoul and I went to culinary school together!"  
Erik didn't even bother masking (ha! Hah!) his astonishment. Culinary school?

"Nadir," he began, "What kind of a moron do you take me for? _Culinary school_? Surely you could do better, I mean, come on, you practically _live_ with the likes of me—"  
"But it's true!"

The vicomte whirled on Erik with a large, impressively realistic smile. "Why! Monsieur Opera Ghost! So…" he paused as though it pained him to continue, "…so _nice_ to see you! I didn't dream you'd be here…in fact I had no idea dear old Naddy would be either…it's the most remarkable coincidence, I would never dream of it!"

"I imagine," said Erik very dryly. Christine, he noticed, was busily flattening herself behind Marius and Eponine.

"Oh and by the way," said Raoul in a chipper tone, "have you met my companions? Marius Pontmercy and my dear friend Miss Eponine Thernadier!" Everyone paused to say a polite hello. Erik smiled and nodded valiantly. And then he was determined to get to the bottom of this.

"So." The Opera Ghost halted the introductions, and began pacing about the table in a very Sherlockian manner. "I have a series of questions for you. All of you—" He turned swiftly on his heel. "There is a conspiracy here. All of you have been plotting—I know it. So here are my questions. First—" Erik paused, lingering what he hoped to be a piercing gaze on Nadir, then Cosette, then Julio, and then the rest. He stared at Christine very hard, and she was suddenly fascinated with her shoes. "First of all. Why am I here? Secondly, why are you—" he nodded to Raoul and his party, "here? Thirdly, what is this win-a-date thing, anyhow? And lastly," he turned to Cosette, "What exactly is the price range in this restaurant? I need to be sure I can afford it."

Nobody said anything for a long time. Some restaurant patrons had turned around to see what the fuss was all about. One of them, gathered Erik, must be a phan judging by her Phantom eyeglasses (which had twin white masks on the lenses which rather defeated the purpose of them anyway), phantom purse, and phantom pooch (which white masks dyed into his black fur).

There was silence for a whole two and a half minutes. And then, Christine came forward.

"All right." She said quietly, although Erik could feel Nadir shaking his head vigorously and making slicing motions with his arms at Christine, behind his back. "all right. I will explain."  
Erik sat down. Again.

"All right," she said, "All right. I admit. It was I. I started the whole thing. I planned it. I arranged for the screening process, etcetera, and etcetera."  
"But Christine?" Erik stared at her in absolute bewilderment, "why?"  
Christine sniffed loudly and dabbed her eyes. "Oh Erik," she said, "I felt so guilty leaving you down there, at the mercy of all those horrible ballet rats, and ballet mistresses, and stagehands, and chorus members, and—"  
"All right," said Erik, " I get the point. But why did you hold the contest?"  
"Oh Erik," she said again, "I wanted so _desperately_ to find you someone else! I hate the thought of you all alone! It will always make me feel terrible!"

Erik sighed. Behind him, the phan who had undoubtedly been paying attention the whole time, sighed as well. Christine appeared doe-eyed, watching Erik.

"So how did you pick Cosette?" he asked.

"Well," said Christine with the beginnings of a smile, "I have you a bit fooled at least. You see, Cosette _isn't_ your phan!"  
Erik whirled around at Cosette, who gave him a wink.

"_What the blazes_—" he dared to cock his head ever so slightly at the bespectacled phan seated with her parents a few tables away, salivating at her good fortune of being in Erik's line of vision. "Not her," he mouthed to Christine, pleading written on every curve of his face.

"No," said Christine with an honest grin, "She isn't the phan—"

"I am!"

Erik turned for the fiftieth time that evening, and faced Eponine Thernadier.

"_You_?"

Eponine grinned broadly. "Me! Is it too horrible?"  
Erik thought for a moment.

"You aren't a soprano, are you?"  
"Why, no," she said, not the slightest bewildered.

"Well, that's good," said the weary opera ghost. And then a very strange thing happened. He fainted.

"Is he coming around?"

"I can't see—"

"Raoul, pass me the napkin, if you please—no, don't try to do it yourself—would you have the sense to douse it in water, first?"  
"For goodness' sake, Christine, don't smother the man! He'll die first!"

"Would you mind that terribly?"  
"Now that you mention it—"  
"Nadir, we need Nadir!"

A pattering of footsteps.

Erik felt a throbbing pain in his skull, and glanced up to see a nice number of attractive faces hovering above him.

"Whash—" he said sleepily, suppressing a groan.

"Rest your head, Erik," said Christine kindly, patting his wig into place.

"What happened?" Erik sat up and found himself seated upon a soft plush chair with gilt edges.

"You'll never guess where we are!"

"I guess not," he mumbled, and he could barely see the foggy outlines of an elaborate theater. "Oh please," he sat up swiftly, "I hope we aren't here to see the Phantom of the Opera. I can take only so much irony."

"Well," Christine glanced at Nadir, "We aren't exactly here to see the play—"  
"Oh, Dear God," said Erik, "Surely not the _movie_—"  
"Yes!" Christine smiled happily, pointing to a large piece of paper taped to Erik's seat with the number "5" painted on in one big, red swoop. "You see? You'll feel right at home!"

Erik made a half-strangled noise before diving into the depths of his chair. "The last thing I need," the others heard from a muffled voice issuing from the depths of the red velvet, "is some Hollywood whipper-snapper constantly reminding me for two hours and twenty minutes exactly how destitute I am."  
"But it'll be fun! You see, Raoul's bought popcorn." Raoul, who was grinning from ear to ear (possibly pleased at the prospect of seeing a Hollywood counterpart of himself very soon), held up a large box of popcorn and shook it.

Erik sighed. "The people I associate with," he muttered. "Where are the others?"  
"Cosette and Marius went off for a romantic walk. I expect they'll be back soon. Oh! She wanted me to tell you that she was glad she realized how lucky she was to be with her husband—"  
"Why is that?"

"Because she says she never realized how unfashionable some men can be." Christine nodded at Erik's wilted rose.

"Thanks, Cosette," said Erik.

"Julio and Nadir went to do something…I don't know, maybe coerce the ushers to let them sit in the rafters or something—"

Erik shook his head in disbelief.

"And Eponine?"  
"Right here," said a cheery voice, as Eponine approached him. "Erik, my dear, don't you remember me?"  
"Remember you?"

"Think hard!" Eponine sat beside him. "Don't you recall? We went to rehab together!"

Erik thought hard. But of course! In the months following the abandonment of Christine and Marius, the two of them had showed up in rehab together, for Depressed, Unrequited Literary Characters. How could he have forgotten?

"Oh, I _remember_!"

"Yes, you see, I was a bit nervous to ring you up," Eponine rung her hands together self-consciously, "I didn't think you remembered…and you didn't!"  
Erik blushed. "I remember now," he said, "Do you recall those trust exercises we did?"  
Eponine chuckled. "Hah! You refused to eat lunch with the others because they didn't let you bring your Punjab Lasso into the cafeteria!"

"And _you_ sat in the corner for days on end, lamenting the existence of men!" Their smiles were genuine now, and they immediately began jabbering about mutual instances in rehab.

Behind them, a guileless and beautiful young soprano observed their prospects with a smile on her face. She like what she saw.

Erik was feeling better already. Eponine was quite ravishing, and she had an interesting sense of humor (and she was a Yanni die-hard, which pleased him). But it stunned him that he had forgotten their days together! "maybe I am going a bit senile," he wondered. Their flow of conversation was interrupted by a general announcement to commence to the seating area, because the movie would shortly begin. By then Cosette and Marius had returned, along with Nadir and Julio who were unsuccessful in their mission. Raoul made a great show of "forgetting the past" by sitting beside Erik and generously sharing his popcorn with the emaciated music-maker. Eponine was on his other side, making interesting comments on Cosette's hair (Cosette was sitting in front of them). For the first time in his life, Erik did not feel the urge to annoy anyone, to murder the vicomte, to seduce Christine, or to burn anything. It was quite alarming, actually. He even smiled at one of Raoul's Korean botanist jokes. "I'm going soft," he said to himself again, the second time in two weeks, which was not generally a good thing. And yet, when the house lights dimmed down, when Gerard Butler's lovely melon filled up the screen and he immediately wondered, "Am I really that good looking?", he was answered with a happy chorus of "NOs!" from all around him which, curiously enough, made him feel very good indeed. It instilled within him a new, unknown feeling of security, for He, Erik, was the One and Only Opera Ghost, Hideous, and Proud of It. And when Julio patted him on the shoulder and offered to "deel weeth" Gerard Butler for being so attractive, Erik smiled. Comfort, companionship, reliability, happiness—he was currently being destroyed by all of these demons, but loving every moment of it. Damn Christmas for being too cheerful, he thought, but he wouldn't mind doing it again.

_Author's Note: This can be the end if you want it to be…but I was thinking of adding a chapter for the Opera House Christmas Party…but that's your decision. If you truly hated it, I shall now take this opportunity to gracefully bow out and not add more corny Phantom humor…kind of a lame ending, but what the hey. Thanks for reading!_


	10. Christmas Party Part I

**here it is, my lovelies, first part of the christmas party chappie**

**Christmas Party, Part I**

**Note: Madame Butterfly: Hey there! I hear you, dear. I was actually thinking of making that a separate phic…I will probably have them watch the movie and make snide comments! It's a good idea! Except one problem: I've seen the movie only once and am at the mercy of my parents, and besides, I've sort of forgotten it…heh…but I promise I will try to make a phic like that. Thanks for your idea!**

**Thanks to all my reviewers! This chapter is divided into two parts. Here is the first part.**

In a week's time, Christine and Raoul received a letter.

Christine slit it open to find pictures, and was gloried by the sight of Erik and Nadir in matching leis, grinning hugely in the warm Caribbean sun. Erik was balancing a pair of big blue sunglasses against his mask and giving a thumbs-up to the cameraman, while Nadir was easily sipping a pina colada. Christine chuckled and showed Raoul, who shook his head and laughed.

"Completely _nuts_," he muttered, flipping to the next picture of Erik and Nadir doing the Macarena with a series of voluptuous local girls. "Is there a letter with this?"

"Oh yes," said Christine, "I didn't notice! Here we are," she flicked open a sheet covered in Erik's craggy red hand. It said:

"To my dearest Christine and to _her husband_ with a somewhat reasonably friendly salutation for the latter—

We have been having a lovely time in the Caribbean, thanks to your generous vacation voucher. The cruise ship was quite large, and Nadir and I had an excellent time running the length of it and yelling like Tarzan. We did have plenty of excitement: I got my very first tan, (which incidentally only made me look worse), and we also got abandoned on a strange little island for some reason, after we divulged to the cruise operators that I was the Phantom of the Opera and Nadir was my minion. I suppose two of the three had seen the film (and both were women), immediately began interrogating me about my underwear sizes, while the other (a man) remained slightly skeptical and asked to see a resume. Now I must remind you my resume has an awful lot of sentences including the word "death," which, quite unfortunately, did not go too well with the ship operator. So they left us on an island to rot. Funny little thing, the island, looked rather burnt out and the whole place reeked of singed rum. Well, Nadir and I wondered if we should call for help, try to forge the ashes into a living habitat, or a rather peculiar combination of both. But luckily, we didn't have long to wait because another cruise ship came barreling along and picked us up. We showed them our passports and such, and were soon admitted on board. And actually, this ship was even better than the last, because their all-eat buffet included curried prawns. It turned out beautifully.

I think I have gained several pounds on this little excursion…I am not looking forward to weighing myself upon my return. But until then, au revoir, my dearest and my dearest's husband!

Your obedient and very tan servant,

O.G.

P.S. See you at the Christmas party!

21 January

"Andre! ANDRE! Get your blasted you-know-what over here—"

"Firmin, I can't hold this all by myself, you know!!"

Firmin turned to see his business partner struggling under an enormous pile of mistletoe.

"A little help?" growled Andre as Firmin rushed to his aid. "Which idiot ordered mistletoe?" Andre demanded as the pair tottered about, and eventually began pinning the sprigs onto the walls.

"Sorelli," muttered Firmin.  
"Alright," he said, "If she wants it so much, why isn't she here helping us put up the decorations? Lazy bitc—"  
"_Manners_, Andre, _manners_," said Firmin kindly. "It's the holidays, after all—"  
"Yeah, then? The holidays, huh? Well, the job description for opera managing never said decorating this gnome-cave from head to toe singlehandedly!"

"It isn't singlehandedly," said Firmin, the hopeful one. "I'm helping you!"

But Andre was enveloped in his previous rant.

"—and the description never said we had to deal with that musical lunatic! In fact, I never wanted to invite him to this! It was—"  
"—Madame de Chagny's idea," finished Firmin, "And we must respect the dear lady's wishes. She said that the rehabilitation has worked wonders for the…er…fellow who lives beneath the Opera House."

"Masked hooligan," insisted Andre stoutly.

"Don't call him that when he comes here," advised Firmin, "I've been told he's bringing some lovely appetizers and that he has an uncanny aim."

"Well, he'd better keep his paws off the new chandelier—YAAH!!" Andre shrieked with pain as a pointy bunch of mistletoe came out of its fastenings, and landed smartly on his head.

"Kiss?" offered Firmin with a grin as Andre gave him a foul look.

AFTER A FEW HOURS OF SUCH BANTERING….

The Opera House had undergone an extreme makeover. Despite Andre's ill temper, the entrance hall was spectacularly clad in glossy scarlet ribbons, soft glowing lights, and imitation snow that Firmin had purchased at a last-minute. The mistletoe had been strategically strung around the more intimate areas of the entrance (under the stairs, for example) for the bashful lovers to have privacy. Firmin made Andre feel better by fastening a piece to the prominent jewel of the chandelier in the center of the hall; poor, unsuspecting couples would be forced into possible incest, and the managers did not want to miss a moment of it. There was an immense table in the center, covered with tablecloths that bore repeating patterns of Rudolph chasing the wintry night with his bulbous conk, and pretty little snowflakes. Upon it, groaning tureens of delectable holiday fare gave off maddeningly delicious scents. There was an immense glass bowl of violently pink punch, and a threatening-looking guard seated beside it to ensure no one spiked it. Andre had finally gotten over his ill feeling when Firmin allowed him a sneak-peek at the raspberry tarts, and the two managers stood together in their fine apparel to greet their guests.

The clock struck eight, and suddenly the hall was filled with people; the managers, suddenly shy of their endeavor, decided to stay close to each other through the bustle. Always highly unsocial, the two were content to sit behind the refreshment table and make acid comments about the various guests. There was much clapping and cheering when Christine de Chagny and her husband arrived; the young woman looked utterly exquisite in a mint-green taffeta gown, and she wore white roses in her hair.

Andre was discussing the rather heavy bosom of the woman in Clique Three clad in Blue Silk, when the managers first heard the nearly imperceptible _swish_ of a cloak. Turning around slowly, the managers were suddenly face-to-face with the horror of their very dreams; out of the shadows of a small forgotten hallway, stood the very vision of dark sexuality and carelessly elegant abandon; he wore a dark evening suit with a top hat, and his face was partly concealed by a glowing fragment of porcelain.

He was also carrying a fruitcake.

He inched delicately towards the two trembling men, and waved the fruitcake in their faces.

"Am I late?" he demanded in a voice worthy of an angelic choir.

"N-no—" Andre could feel his blood turning to ice. Beside him, Firmin was mouthing, "Call him a masked hooligan to his face_, I dare you_," and Andre stomped on his foot.

Erik spied the refreshment table.

"How terrible," he whispered, "This cake is quite inadequate. Look at the size of those chocolate scones!"

And in a passionate rage, he swished around the two struck managers and disappeared into the crowd.

"Well," said Andre after he had sufficiently thawed, "he didn't bring appetizers."

_dun dun dun!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and then........?_


	11. Part Two: What Happened There

last chappie!

Christmas Party, Part II

As for Erik's first Christmas party, the Opera Ghost believed it could have gone worse.

After cornering the managers and sweeping off, Erik and Nadir (who was hiding mysteriously behind a pillar like the olden days which is why he was never seen in the musical version of Erik's life) shared a hearty snigger at the cock-eyed nincompoops who ran Erik's theatre. Well, not technically; technically, they rightfully owned about half. Erik still cringed when he thought of the paperwork Andrew Lloyd Webber had sent him back in the eighties. Ah well. It was nice to pretend.

After helping himself to the better half of the refreshments, Erik strategically placed his fruitcake in a discreet corner on the long table; somehow he did not feel that the char-broiled streaks on the cake's surface would be interpreted as the artistic convulsions of his _dark_ nature.

Rather the artistic convulsions of his _oven_, which he still could not operate properly.

Erik had never been in the midst of so many people whilst simultaneously devoid of murderous/lustful thoughts. He did not have a victim, and therefore, he did not have a clue.

But he _had_ seen enough James Bond movies to enable him a slightly elegant and sleek demeanor to blend into the crowd. Pity that demeanor was limited to smiling seductively and repeatedly checking his nails. A pretty young creature clad in sensual pink looked his way and winked; Erik smiled his most seductive and checked his nails with expertise that would send Pierce Brosnan home in tears. She glided towards Erik and Nadir, and in a moment, was inches from the former's face.

"How do you do?" she smiled beguilingly. "My, what fine hands you have! So slim…and elegant…" she slipped her own dainty one into Erik's.

Erik checked his nails.

"Is there a name that goes with those exquisite digits?" Her eyes could melt silver.

Erik smiled seductively. And then, for good measure, checked his nails.

"Yes, dearie, I'm asking you!"

Erik's smile remained frozen on his lips.

She smirked, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"I—I've just spied a lovely fruitcake," she said with a sigh, "I think I'll just be…"

Erik grinned helplessly as she paced away. Nadir ground his elbow into Erik's side.

"OW!"

"Idiot," growled the Persian, "You just let _that_ walk away?" they both stared as the young lady's comely figure bent over the refreshment table and began sawing at Erik's contribution.

Erik whimpered. Nadir sighed and patted him on the back.

"You know," he said, "I do think James Bond does more than that."

"But Nadir," said Erik soulfully, "I haven't got enough pockets to store all those guns."

The gods of fortune smiled on Erik as Christine discovered the pair in the corner, and smilingly brought sunshine to their darkened corner.

"Erik, my dear!" she embraced him warmly. "Are you having a good time?"

Erik looked at the ceiling as Nadir explained the recent happenings. Christine laughed.

"Silly! You shouldn't have done that anyway!"  
"Why not?"

"Did you forget? Eponine is coming tonight!"

Well, at least, if the need aroused, he could claim that he was already "taken".

"Oh," he said.

"Nadir," said Christine, "I'm feeling like a raspberry tart. Would you be a dear and fetch me one?"

Nadir scampered.

Christine smiled conspiratorially at Erik.

"I've got a present for you," she whispered into his ear, "But I haven't got one for Nadir…I didn't want him to feel badly. Put this away, will you?"

Erik could scarcely conceal his delight as she pressed a beautifully wrapped package into his hands. The very first present of his life.

"Christine," he said, voice trembling, "You…"

Christine silenced him by taking him into her arms briefly once more, and laying a small, chaste kiss on his mouth.

"If ever you need _anything_," she said, "You'll know where to come first."

She left Erik feeling like a million francs.

Hastily tearing the wrappings, two things fell onto his lap: A handsome, leather-bound notebook with heavy paper, already pre-lined for Erik to scrawl in compositions. He glanced at the other object, which turned out to be a can of Elmer's Premium Crazy Glue. Raising an eyebrow, he turned the can over and found a note in Christine's loopy handwriting:

_Whenever Eponine decides to tear your mask off, you'll be ready. And if this doesn't work, spare her the "Stranger Than You Dreamt It" rant. _

_-C _

Erik was still snickering when Nadir returned, covered from head to toe in raspberries and buttery crust (he'd had a tussle with the fruit punch guard when he'd tried to slip in a bit of his own invention into the stuff).

"Where's Christine?" the Daroga held up the tart.

Erik grinned happily. "I love that girl. To death."  
"Oh no," said Nadir, immediately alarmed. "It's a phase, Erik, it's a phase. You'll get over her—"

Erik chuckled. "Daroga, you really are hilarious. Not that way." And he went off to gather more food.

The party was going on later than anticipated; most of the food had been eaten. Erik was having a rather good time. Once you got Joseph Buquet away from sneaking around the parapets and flies, he had a bizarrely fun sense of humor. Erik apologized for his neck (carefully padded in a thick round cast), and Buquet said he didn't care. The party had truly luminous moments, of course, until Erik was cornered by Raoul. The vicomte was carrying a cheese croquet in either hand, and anxiously edged to where Erik and Nadir were standing.

"So," said Raoul, whose hair was tied in a tiny snip of scarlet ribbon.

"So," said Erik, who didn't have any hair at all. Well, nearly.

"I understand you are a musical person," said Raoul, keen on making small talk.

"Um," said Erik.

" You enjoy classical? I'm more of a rocker, myself," said the vicomte.

_Off_ your rocker, thought Erik.

"No, I do have a band, you know. Me and the guys. But we're still in the stable phase. You know, haven't ventured out of the horse stable yet. Haha." Raoul laughed at his own strange joke.

"Haha," agreed Erik. Then, out of politeness, he asked: "What is your band called?"

"The Twitching Piranhas," said Raoul promptly. "Suave, isn't it?"  
For Raoul's band, Erik couldn't imagine a better name.

Raoul pressed on. "Have _you_ ever wanted a rock band?"  
_With me as the only member?_ Smart little fop. Actually, Erik _had_ considered it. Maybe him and Nadir, someday. It was to be called Masks N' Roses.

"It's crossed my mind," he said.

"Do you need help and publicity? Because if you do, I've got contacts—" Raoul whipped out a notebook and immediately began taking notes.

"No, no, vicomte, it isn't that urgent. Thank you."

Mercifully, at that very moment, Eponine appeared swathed in a silk orange gown, and her dark brown curls demurely resting on her bare shoulders. She looked, in Erik's opinion, like a very beautiful tropical flower. He told her so.

"Erik you are such a _tease_," said Eponine with a giggle as she slipped her arm into the crook of his.

"Why?" he asked, bewildered. For Erik had never been one to flirt, and was not exactly sure how it worked. If you needed an opera with an almost orgasmic level of exquisite passion, Erik was your man. Flirtation, like women and associate bankers, just didn't make sense.

Cosette appeared shortly with Marius, dressed in foamy sea greens. It took Erik the better of five minutes to figure out why she wanted to resemble a weed. But she took Erik by extreme surprise when she handed him a package swathed with heavy ribbons.

"Thank you," he said at this unexpected token.

"You'll need that," she remarked dryly, "Open it, and you'll see what I mean."

Erik ripped it open to find a pristine copy of "Fashion For Dummies." Cosette winked.

By now, Nadir had tracked down Christine and presented her with the raspberry tart. The pair wandered over to the group originating from Erik, and the chattering immediately escalated. Erik wondered if this was a good time to give out his gifts.

For Christine, he had purchased a pair of lacy white gloves that the lady at the store assured him were all the rage. "Christine?" he whispered shyly, pressing them into her hands. Overcome with affection for her socially inept darling, the young woman flung her arms around him for a third time that evening and promised that she would wear them at every possible moment ("how about now?" asked Erik. "We're indoors," said Christine. "Emmy Rossum wore them in the movie," said Erik. "I'm not Emmy Rossum," said Christine. "But what about the Matrix? They wore sunglasses indoors, didn't they?" demanded Erik. Prolonged pause. "What does that have to do with _anything_?" asked Christine. "Oh all right, if it makes you feel better".).

For Eponine, Erik magically produced red roses (tied together with a, heh heh, nice ebony ribbon) so large, that each was roughly the size of his own head. She gave a shriek of delight and immediately smothered him in kisses, giving him not only a burning blush, but a nice, tingly sensation as well.

Julio had also wandered over with a remarkably massive young woman on his arm. Erik handed him his present, which turned out to be—earplugs.

"Meester Ereek?" questioned Julio.

"You live with Carlotta," said Erik, "Consider them your salvation."

For Nadir, Erik had selected a particularly mocking token.

"I am not wearing THIS," roared the Persian, holding up the "The Phantom is a Sex God" T-Shirt that Erik had just handed him.

"Why, Daroga, afraid to admit it?"

Nadir stared at him. "And I suppose that's how you want me to view you as…?"

"Eh, I guess it's a little wrong. But you can always wear it inside-out."

"This is true."  
But the strangest, most terrifying of the evening was yet to come. For, at approximately half-past eleven, there was a thunderous, earth-shattering thump as the doors sailed open to regale the fabulous La Carlotta, in all her glory, clad to the hilt with expensive turquoise silks and looking, as she might have said it, magneefeecent.

She looked around beadily, and almost at once, thunderous applause erupted.

La Carlotta glided, like an enormous float, to Erik's crowd. Then, to everyone's enormous surprise, she grabbed the unaware Erik by the scrawny arm, dipped his head backwards, and gave him a searing kiss on the mouth.

It was a very long kiss. Raoul stood timing it, and it went on about five minutes. When Carlotta finally released him, Erik saw tiny ballerinas dancing in circles around his head. The uncovered portion of his face had assumed the color and texture of a beet. Wiping his mouth, Erik thought about what had just happened. Was La Carlotta secretly lusting for him all these years? Was he missing something, beneath the layers of rudeness? And above all, why was it that she wasn't a terribly bad kisser?

Erik turned to face the diva, and the whole hall had gone dead silent.

"Madame?" he muttered hoarsely, turning away from Eponine, who looked both surprised and hurt.

"What?" she said indifferently.

"What was—"  
"Oh, 'oo SEELY BOY!" roared the lady suddenly. "LOOK!" she stabbed a jeweled finger to the sky.

Everybody looked up to face the great chandelier.

Mistletoe.

THE END

A/N: my lovely reviewers! What did you think? Are you pleased with it? It's been a pleasure writing for you…I'll do it again if you want me to! THANKS FOR ALL YOUR SUPPORT!


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